


Burning Blue Stars

by jasminealyssa



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bottom Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marijuana, Minor Character Death, Minor Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, Rich Eren Yeager, Slow Burn, Top Eren Yeager
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasminealyssa/pseuds/jasminealyssa
Summary: Levi has always known about Uncle Kenny’s drug trafficking ring, but when he lets it slip to the ever-so-annoying Eren Jaeger at his mother’s funeral, he wasn’t expecting it to unlock secrets and his heart.





	Burning Blue Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo, this is my first fic, well... kind of. I had originally posted this fic in January, but the more I posted new chapters, the more I became dissatisfied with the old ones. Also, I was making it _way_ more angsty than I wanted it to be. So I'm starting this again from scratch, and hopefully, 2nd time's the charm. I really hope so.

I don’t want to be here. In fact, I'd rather be anywhere than here. I can make a list of places I'd rather be. Really, because I have. I started a mental list since I sat down on this stupid pew—home, the shop, fucking Walmart, Hell. Anywhere. 

Why would I want to be here? 

The nave, for the most part, is filled with people who looked down on the one woman I’ve loved my entire life. Mom deserves better than this. So much better. Why would I subject myself to such a ludicrous “celebration of life”? That's an answer I've spent a lot of time pondering. I thought about it last night as I drank my weight in whiskey with Erwin. Well, maybe “with” wasn’t the word considering I did the drinking, not him. I did most of the talking, too. I raved about the  _never-ending_ list of things wrong with the shit they deem a funeral. Erwin, he listened, occasionally butting in as a voice of logic and reason. It was annoying. Why did he have to be right? 

If I was doing what I want, whiskey and I'd be having a ball. A fucking  _ball_ , I tell you. I’m not sure where we'd be, whiskey and I, but we'd be having a hell of a lot more fun there than at a shit-ass funeral having to give a shit-ass eulogy. I mean, do these people care? Mostly, no. Kenny cares. He hasn't stopped sobbing from the moment we sat down. He's trying to hide it, but it’s hard to not notice a fucking giant sobbing. Erwin, Hanji, Isabel, Farlan, and I are all here, too, and we care. Everybody else? Not so much. 

My  _family—_ they don’t deserve to be called that, which the reasons why is another list in itself—don’t. I’m sure they're having fun pretending. I’m sure they had fun abusing good ol’ Uncle Kenny’s wallet for all their heart’s desires for the sake of the funeral. I’m also sure they don’t care. They treated Mom like a black sheep the instant she got pregnant with me. They never visited as illness weathered away at her. They didn’t see how everyday another piece of her soul and character was stolen.  

I saw it.  

And the memories of all that she was still plague my mind. 

Today, one memory of a spring afternoon at the park several years ago is unrelenting. 

“Mommy, why is the sky gray?” 

“The clouds soak up water,” she raises her pointer finger in the air, “and turn gray when it’s time to let it go.” She curves her finger as she brings it back down. “Now, finish your sandwich. It looks like it’s going to rain.” She runs her fingers underneath my jaw and lightly grasps my chin to turn my head up to face her as a small smile makes its way to her face. 

I shake my head to free myself from her grip, frown, furrow my eyebrows, and cross my arms. “But we’re having so much fun, can we please stay longer?” I whine, dragging out the please. 

As I gaze up at Mom, a water droplet falls onto her cheek. I sense one fall onto my leg, and another, and another, and another, until we're  immersed in rainwater from all angles. A gust of wind flows my way, followed by a splash. I turn to search for the source and I'm met with the sight of Mom giggling at my reaction. Her laughter vibrates through the air like music. 

I chuckle, flinging rain at her the same way she did to me. “Oh, you want to play like that?” she says, smiling as she sits up from the picnic blanket. “You’ll have to catch me first!” Her harmonious laugh fills the air as she runs away, black hair slick with rainwater. 

Determined to continue, I rise from the blanket and chase after her as fast as my young legs can carry me. I giggle as I run through what was once a playground, but had suddenly transformed into an obstacle course. My sole goal is to reach her, and once I do, she hoists me into the air. 

“Gotcha!” I exclaim, raising my arms in triumph. 

She quirks an eyebrow. “Did you now?” She tickles my neck, sending my head jerking back as I giggle, and it continues as she lifts me up higher to sit on her shoulders. The rain soaks us and our clothes, but it doesn’t matter. It's a blissful, carefree day where nothing else matters in the world. 

My head spinning with an abundance of memories that each carried Mom’s love makes saying goodbye an execution. The world doesn’t remember people like her—deemed ordinary but far from it.  

Goodbye marks her end. I won’t let it. I can’t. 

I said something like that when my  _family_ told me I would be giving a eulogy, “I won’t. They can’t make me.” Because what’s the point? A funeral service honors the dead. A room with people who saw her as something beneath them doesn’t honor her. She deserved the world on a silver platter, however, the hand life dealt her was rough and lined with mountains to overcome. Yet, she climbed over each one with grace. Does that mean nothing? Will a fucking eulogy even amount to a slither of justice? 

Erwin assured me it would, but as the priest calls me up to read the eulogy all his reasons flee my brain. Doubt can be a beast. Nevertheless, I stand up, readjusting the buttons on my suit jacket. My hair bounces as I stroll toward the podium. The sound of my shoes tapping against the marble floors echoes throughout the nave. The nerves in the air are palpable. They aren’t mine. They're my  _family’s._  

I see myself as a hard-working twenty-one-year-old man. They, on the other hand—although they’d never say it to my face—view me as a sinful recipe for disaster. A ticking time bomb waiting to erupt with chaos. 

Fuck them. 

Last night, when I was downing shots of whiskey, I told Erwin that I hadn’t written my eulogy yet. Then, he proceeded to write it for me on a bar napkin. He would pause to ask me things like, “What’s a fond memory you have of her?” Which I would then reply, “When she’d pass me another drink.” Needless to say, I wasn’t much help, and I have no idea what's written on this bar napkin as I unravel it on the podium. Luckily, the writing is slanted and smudged in some places but legible. 

Out of my peripheral, I notice Hanji flashing me an encouraging thumbs up as I begin, “My mother was a ray of golden sunshine. Being around her provided anyone who had the pleasure of knowing her with a sense of warmth and comfort in a way only she could. Mom tried to make everybody’s day better with her presence, regardless of who the person was, or how poorly they may have treated her in the past. Even if her day wasn’t going particularly well, she always succeeded in that, through her infectious smile and contagious laugh that lit up every single room she entered. She knew exactly what to say and when to say something to comfort someone. 

“She always tried to brighten someone’s day through her baking. If she ever noticed someone was feeling down or sick, she would bake them something. I remember my friend, got the flu one time in elementary school. She insisted on making him cookies to make him feel better. We stayed up late that night making dozens of cookies for him. When we gave them to him the next morning, his face was priceless. His eyes immediately lit up when she revealed the huge tub of chocolate chip cookies. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the kid so happy in my life.” The audience lets out a small laugh.  _Fucking Erwin_. 

“She was a kindergarten teacher, and one time she decided to surprise her students with cupcakes for getting 1st place at the science fair. She worked hard that night making sure she baked and decorated enough cookies for her entire class. I ended up helping her decorate them, and she seemed genuinely excited to see her student’s reactions. I helped her bring them in. You could tell the class really adored her, with or without the cupcakes. They all gave her a group hug to thank her, and when mom started getting sick all of them made her Get Well Soon cards.” I must have been more complacent and drunk than I thought because shit, I don’t remember telling Erwin _any_ of that. 

“Her heart was so big, she possessed an appreciation for everyone and everything, even those who probably didn’t deserve it. She showed love and grace to everyone she encountered. Mom saw the good in everyone and consistently chose to look at the Bright-side of every situation, no matter how grim.  She was an angel in disguise. I don’t know what I did to have such a warm-hearted mother. 

“Mom was the epitome of altruism. Growing up she constantly put me before her own needs. Instead of going to college after high school and pursuing the career of her dreams, she got a job and raised me. She never let me feel guilty about being the cause of her not pursuing her dreams. If I dared to bring it up, she would always say, ‘You are my new dream. I couldn’t ask for anything better.’” Fuck, why do bad things happen to good people? She was fucking amazing. 

“I wish she had had enough time to chase her dreams, but the universe had other plans for her. I can only hope she is in the better place that she deserves to be in. Goodbye Mom, not a day will go by where I don’t miss you. I’ll love you, always.” 

 

* * *

 

The reception is no better than the funeral. My  _family_ rented out an Eastside restaurant named Sina that was known for its triple dollar sign prices as if they could afford to eat there.  

 _That’s what happens when you let them run amuck with your wallet, Kenny_.  

Shiganshina’s Eastside is where all the businessman, doctors, and lavish vacation homes are. While the Westside—or the Underground as some like to call it—is riddled with poverty. I was born on the Westside, along with all of my  _family_. But when Kenny got involved in drug trafficking, he moved to the Eastside and took me and Mom with him. Knowing the rest of my  _family_ , it’s no surprise that they’re running haywire with the funeral. 

It's phony. All of it. Pretending as though they cared about her enough to spend all this money. The money means nothing without sentiment. 

The chatter converts into irritating noise as it punctures my ears. Each sentence pricks at another nerve. My aggravation spikes steadily. The urge to get away from the situation intensifies.  

I stand from one of the several white-clothed tables and storm into the bathroom, pushing the door open with little regard. I grip the sink’s edge, and my head falls to stare at the white curve. 

 _Why are you even at this_ _shithole_ _? Just leave. No one will blame you. Just tell them to fuck off or say it’s too much for you._  

My gaze lifts to my reflection. The usual dark circles under my eyes are more prominent. Sleepless nights are common for me. Guilt always finds a way to manifest itself into my dreams. Since her passing, her absence is what keeps me awake at night. The house is so... empty. Desolate. Despite my lack of sleep, my hair is tousled as if I've just woken up. My complexion is paler than normal—not enough nutrients. Eating without her feels like a punch to the gut. A reminder that she isn’t here. The only thing I can do is imagine her. But it would never be as good as the real thing. 

 _None of them care. They don’t even know how incredible she is. Was, Levi. She’s dead. Gone. Forever. Get that through your fucking head._  

I would have hit myself in the head to drive the point home, but the sound of a toilet flushing not too far from me stops me. It's an older man. He isn’t elderly but not young either. He wears a pair of thin round glasses that reminded me of another pair of shitty glasses. He flashes me a cordial smile before he starts washing his hands. 

Being thorough never hurt anybody, I decide, joining him in washing hands. I trail behind him as he grabs a paper towel. When I grab one, too, he steps away from me and exits. Since I'm not behind him much, I get a good view of him approaching Kenny and two other people not too far from the bathroom. 

One man, one woman, both notably younger than Kenny and Shitty Glasses #2. The man’s features mirror Shitty Glasses #2's slightly because both have the same dark hair and lightly tanned complexion. However their facial features look almost nothing alike. They're probably related somehow, but I can’t say the same thing for the woman next to them. She has pale skin and silky black hair that reminds me of Mom’s. Neither of them seem the slightest bit interested in anything, which proves my point further—they don’t care. Come to think of it, I recognize almost everyone at the funeral, and if not then I was told they were distant relatives. These people don't look like family, and I don’t recognize them. 

Probably just as disinterested as she looks, the woman leaves. Kenny and Shitty Glasses #2 do the same but in the opposite direction. As Kenny turns to leave, he glances over his shoulder and shoots me a look I've gotten to know all too well after years of living with him, The I’m-Going-To-Talk-About- _Business_ -Don't-Disturb-Me Look. It's no surprise. It's a normal occurrence, Kenny leaving to discuss “business”. The surprising part is that every time he leaves with people who seem ordinary and harmless.  

Shitty Glasses #2 is no exception. He's dressed nicely, and if he lives in Shiganshina, then he definitely lives on the Eastside. Overall, he looks like the kind of guy you’d approach for directions. A person who you would never expect to be involved in a drug ring. You could say the same about Kenny. No one pegged Shiganshina’s Mattress King for a Drug lord. 

No matter how trustworthy they seem, I know to listen to Kenny. I learned the hard way to stay as far as you can away from Kenny and his “business”. So, I make my way back to my table. At least the people there would give two shits.  

My footsteps come to an abrupt stop when I sense a hand on my shoulder. I snap my head at whoever the fuck thought it was okay to place their unsolicited hands on me. I'm greeted by vibrant sea green eyes that dig into my soul and convey so much pity. It's disgusting.  

“Hey,” the young man who was with Shitty Glasses #2 says. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just wanted to let you know that I lost my mom a few years back, so I know—” 

A surge of exasperation runs through me. It doesn’t miss a single spot in my body. “No, you don’t know,” I interrupt. “You don’t know me, or probably anything for that matter. Don’t pretend like you know shit. Don’t touch me, and while you’re at it, leave me alone.” I turn on a heel away from him. 

Who does he think he is? Dressed in clothes probably worth more than some people’s fucking mortgages and he thinks he can hand out life advice. He doesn’t know jack shit about me, Mom, or the situation. Fuck him. Probably thought he’d hand me some “revelation” out of his ass, and I’d start kissing the ground he walks on. Fucking classic rich people and their goddamn entitlement. I swear Erwin and Hanji are the only good ones sometimes. That— 

A warm hand grasps my wrist, obstructing my thoughts. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to know exactly what brainless shithead decided it was okay to touch me after I explicitly told him not to. “Get your grimy paws off me,” I say, unmoving. “God so help you if you don’t because I can guarantee you’re not gonna like where my foot ends up.” His grip falters. My tolerance for these people reaches its limit. That was the final straw. 

I fully release myself from his repugnant hold and storm away. 

I'm overcome by tunnel vision. One focus. One goal.  

 _Leave._  

 _Now._  

I don’t look back. I couldn’t care less to examine the idiot’s face. I don’t care to tell anybody I'm leaving—not Kenny, not Erwin, not Hanji, not Isabel, not Farlan. I don’t care about anything as I exit the restaurant doors, except the one place that keeps creeping its way into my mind. 

I grab my car keys from my pocket and hastily unlock the car. As I throw open the car door, I notice a bottle of whiskey on the passenger’s seat. Without a doubt, it's one of many from last night. The liquor fills up a little less than half the bottle. I run my fingers along the edge of the bottle.  _Whiskey_ _, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you._  

I slam my keys into the ignition and press on the gas pedal, revving the engine to life. I press shuffle on my music before driving onto the Shiganshina streets. The soothing melodic beats that come in through the car speakers send my stresses away. 

The roads are quiet with few cars in sight. It allows me to devote my attention to the music as my fingers mimic the beat and I hum to the tune. The songs fade to others, each one relieving a small fraction of my stacked stresses until I make it to my destination.

As my eyes scan the area, it seems like for the first time all week, things might look up. I exit the car, whiskey in hand, and make my way up the path that leads to the playground from that one afternoon in the park all those years ago. I don’t know if I can be here at this hour, especially because I have alcohol at a children’s playground, but in all honesty, I don’t care.  _She_ needs to be here. 

The playground has changed since the last time I was here. It used to have an abundance of reds, yellows, and greens, but everything is now painted a fresh shade of royal blue.  

My fingers dip down to graze the now royal-blue slide I remember Mom sliding down as I followed behind her, all giggles. If I think about it hard enough, maybe if I envision her intently, it would make her lingering presence here real. I squeeze my eyes so tight my eyes are pleading for me to stop. I listen to them and kick the earth in frustration.  

Memories of that day have never been clearer. I let them be known to be as I plop down on a swing set. I can see Mom on each piece of the jungle gym with me. We were so happy. All smiles. No worries. What makes my worries go away now? Alcohol. As I unscrew the cap and let the liquor cascade its familiar burn down my throat, I can feel her around me like a warm blanket. So close, and here. With me.

“I’m sorry!” 

I don’t need to adjust my gaze to know which idiot has deemed it okay to follow me. There was only one person I've met that is so inept when it comes to instructions and apparently social protocol. It's obvious he lacks the mental capacity to follow basic directions. 

“You don’t like to listen, do you?” I say, looking at the tall man with narrowed eyes. “I tell you not to touch me, and you do it anyways. I tell you to leave me alone, and you  _follow_ _me_ like a creepy stalker. How sane are you?” 

The ground must be mighty interesting because he doesn’t take his eyes off it as he speaks. “I...,” he sighs, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for neglecting and over-stepping your boundaries. I didn’t mean to make you so upset. I just wanted—” 

“I, I, I, I, I,” I point an accusatory finger at him as I stand up from the swing set, “that’s the only thing I hear coming out of your stupid mouth. None of this is about you.” I take a swig from the bottle because frankly, I need it after dealing with this idiot. The urge to rip out his brown hair needs to be subdued unless I want to spend the night in jail. “You fucking rich people love yourselves. You must get a real kick out of making everything about you. You need to take that goddamn superiority complex of yours and shove it up your ass.” I thrust two of my fingers in the air.

Up until then, he looked like an astray puppy—lost and slightly melancholic. That astray puppy face is replaced with something fiery. “I don’t have a fucking superiority complex! Excuse me for wanting to be a decent person.” 

“ _Oh really?_ Being a decent person entails touching people even after they tell you not to and  _following_  them places? Gee, you really do learn something new every day. Why don’t you just deal with your family’s drugs and leave me alone. Can you do that? Or do I have to dumb that down for you, so it can get through that thick skull of yours?” 

That astray puppy face of his makes a reappearance. “Family’s drugs...?” His expressive eyes are wide with shock as they remain trained on nothing specific. 

 _Oh no._  

 _Shit._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when the next chapter will be up since I'm pretty busy with exams but hopefully soon. I'm about halfway done with it as of now. You can find me on Tumblr [here.](http://invioletsky.tumblr.com)  
> 


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